Out of Control
by Melite
Summary: Everyone has different ways of coping. Some people go for a run, others play music and others box. The list is endless. This is my coping mechanism,


Disclaimer - CSI does not belong to me and I'm not making any money out of this although God knows I need some.  
  
Summary - Sara feels out of control hence the title.  
  
G/S  
  
Rating - R to be on the safe side for bad language and subject matter  
  
Out of Control  
  
"Sara, you okay?" A voice startles me from my daydream. I am exhausted. Its the second double shift I've pulled this week and I can feel the weariness begin to take over my body and claim it as its own. I turn and nod at Warrick who is standing by my chair and looking down at me with a strange expression on his face. I glance down at my front to make sure I didn't spill any of the diet soda that I was clutching onto before my mind wandered away from the realm of reality and into that of fantasy. There is nothing there.   
  
"Is there something wrong Warrick or do you like staring at people who look like crap because they haven't slept or showered in twenty hours?". I don't mean to be snarky but I hate it when people stare at me. I'm probably just being ultra paranoid but I feel like they're sizing me up, judging me and ready to pronounce me an unfit human or something and are preparing to cast me out of society. Warrick eventually smiles at me, breaking the tension that seemed to have infiltrated the room during our terse exchange, or rather my terse retort.   
  
"You'd spaced out there for a minute. I was worried that I'd have to call NASA to establish communications". He says this with another smile. He's trying to make the peace, smooth things over. He's lucky, I'm going to play nice with the other children today. It would take too much effort to do anything else. For a start off I'm not too sure my brain will be able to concoct any witty or sarcastic comments in its sleep deprived and unusually sluggish state. Anyway, it wouldn't be fair to take my pissiness out on him, we're all in the same situation here. We're two csIs down tonight. Nick somehow managed to break his arm yesterday, probably trapped it down the back of his recliner while trying to locate the remote control or something equally as stupid. I sent him some knitting needles as a gift. Well, they came in useful when I broke my leg in college. Catherine on the other hand is in a Grissom imposed quarantine as Lyndsay has the chicken pox. With Itchy and Scratchy out of action it means that the nightshift is officially screwed.   
  
"Warrick, you crack me up". I even move my mouth into a semblance of a smile. That should do it.   
  
Warrick comes and sits beside me. We sit in silence for a while. We're both too worn out to do anything else but its a good silence. Not like when you can feel the air crackle with the vibes of discomfort radiating from each other and you are compelled to say something, anything if only to end the insufferable, suffocating quiet. Its actually nice. Especially after the night we've had. It seems like all the criminals in Vegas heard about the great CSI drought and decided to commit all their violent and depraved acts all at once. We all had to work solo and they've all been difficult cases. Sometimes it feels like the world is spiralling out of control. Crime after crime after crime. Where have all the good guys gone? Its depressing and as much as I hate to admit it, scary. Yes, Sara Sidle the resident hardass bitch is scared of something. In fact I am, on occasion, absolutely fucking terrified. Every murder, mutilation, attack and assault brings home to me the fact that I can not control what goes on around me. Things happen whether I want them to or not and if you are anything like me, that is your worst nightmare. At least there are some things in my life that I can control and ways in which I can release the pent up pain and frustration. Its like a release and it feels so good.  
  
"Where's Grissom?" Warrick eventually asks, his voice ringing out loudly. This is a question I know I can answer.  
  
"He's in the morgue with Doc Robbins and his gunshot vic". Silence reigns down again and covers us like a snuggly warm blanket. I don't think either of us can think of anything to say. Warrick and I do not engage in idle conversation and chit chat. Thats Nick and Catherine's arena. I for one am absolutely useless at small talk. Last time I tried, I ended up babbling on about quantum physics and the properties of particles. Needless to say the conversation died pretty soon after. When I was a child, my Grandpa Tom asked me about my friends. I burst into tears when I admitted that I didn't have any, that no one liked me. I know now that it was because I intimidated them with my intellect but at the time it was so painful. I still remember the humiliation of spending every recess on my own either doing extra math or hiding from the children who teased me . It hurt so much to watch the other kids from the sidelines, always the last kid picked. He picked me up and sat me on his knee, rocking me until I had no tears left to shed and told me that I didn't belong in this world. I think he was right. 25 years later and I still find it so difficult to relate to people outside the lab. I can count the number of friends have using my fingers and every single one of them is employed by the LVPD. I just don't fit in anywhere except in the lab. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle piece thats been put in the wrong box.   
  
I feel a vibration against my thigh. Its my beeper announcing that my DNA results are ready. I move to stand up but am thwarted by a sudden wave of lethargy that courses through my body. My head feels fuzzy but thats probably due to lack of sleep. My ineptitude does not go unnoticed by Warrick who shoots me yet another concerned stare. "I'm fine" I say a little too sharply but it's the truth I am fine. Warrick stands up and offers me is hand which I gladly take. He looks down at my arm and pulls the sleeve of my jumper up slightly. I quickly pull away and give him my best 'don't mess with me' look that I have perfected over the years. He takes the hint and decides not to say whatever it is he had opened his mouth to say. A very wise move. I find it difficult to be diplomatic when I am tired and seem to have an uncanny knack for landing myself slap bang in the middle of confrontations at the exact time I can deal with them the least. I know what he is going to say and I don't want to hear it especially right now. I have a case to investigate.   
  
Somehow I managed to pull the shortest straw out of a handful of short straws. At a glance it looked like a text book suicide. A teenage boy was found hanged in his room but something seemed wrong. It always does when someone so young, someone who hadn't yet had a chance to experience all the wonderful things life has to offer, feels that life is so unbearable that they have to end it. I played my hunch and was right. I found a diary in his room, an inocuous looking book but one that held the darkest, most horrifiying secrets. The boy, his name was Jack Moore, had been raped that same day by someone who was in a position of trust. Someone who should have been looking after this young man instead of brutalising him and ultimately destroying him. The rape kit came back positive and luckily for us Jack still had his attacker's DNA under his fingernails. Thats what Greg has ready for me now. I am going to nail the bastard that did this and make sure his sorry ass rots in jail for many years to come.  
  
I exit the breakroom, knowing that Warrick is staring at my retreating back. He must know but I can't for the life of me figure out how. When I do it, which is not very often, I am usually so careful. People would think I was a freak if they ever found out what I do to myself when things get too much, when I feel like I'm being buried alive and am grasping at the last threads of control that seem to be slowly slipping out of my reach. They wouldn't understand the feelings that rush over me when I dig my finger nails in to the flesh of my arm or when I take a blade and run it softly over my skin. I feel alive again. Its not the same as Ashleigh James, I don't hate my body or see myself as disgusting. For me its a way of regaining control and also a way of dealing with the pain.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
True to my word, I have nailed the bastard. I want to go with Vega to arrest the sorry excuse for a human being but my beeper has gone of once again. Sometimes I feel like deliberately leaving the damn thing in my locker just so I can get some peace. The page is from Grissom, he wants me to meet him in his office. This does not sound good. Warrick wouldn't have said anything, he can't have done. He would not do this to me, would he? I suppose I'd better go find out what the Bugman wants. The longer I prolong it, the worse the situation will get. Just Look what happened to Hamlet when he procrastinated.   
  
The door to his office is open and he is sitting at his desk looking out into the corridor ahead. He looks pensive and the dullness of the light ages him. The lines on his face and the greyness of his hair are emphasised by the poor quality illumination. He is waiting for me and suddenly I feel nervous. I can feel the butterflies dancing in my stomach and its making me feel nauseous. "Close the door Sara and sit down'. For once I do as I'm told without any arguments. I take the seat directly opposite him although I can not bring myself to look in his face, I'm too afraid of what I might see if I did. I play with the loose thread hanging from my sleeve, anything is preferable to looking into the beautiful blue depths of his eyes. I want to say something, I even go as far as to open my mouth until I realise that I do not actually know what to say. Grissom makes the decision for me.  
  
"I expect you know why I've called you in Sara. Warrick told me he saw you in the locker room earlier..." he pauses, I don't think he knows what to say either. I could make my escape right now, take him by surprise and I could be away from this nightmare. Strangely I can not move even though this is the last place I want to be right now. Its like there are invisible ties chaining me to the spot. Eventually he finds the words "Warrick said, he saw you dig your fingernails into your right foreharm so hard and for so long that you made yourself bleed. Sara, did you?". I still can't look at him so I shake my head. Denial is always the best policy. What's he going to do? Make me show him my arm?   
  
"Griss.." I begin but am cut off by his yell. The ferocity surprises me and I nestle further into the chair, trying to make myself as small as possible. I don't think I can handle this right now but then again I don't really have a choice  
  
"Don't you dare try and lie to me Sara!". He's standing up now and is making his way towards me. I try to get up but a hand pushes me back into the chair, the gentlness of the touch belying the violence of the gesture. I feel his touch on my right arm, he's pulling at my sleeve. I want to push him away but I do not possess the energy to do so. The look on his face when he sees the four crescent shaped indentations on my arm is difficult to read. I am truly afraid now. The silence is palpable and the atmosphere as oppresive as it is before a thunder storm. Something has to break.  
  
"Why did you do this Sara? Why? What can I do to make you stop?" He's crying. Why is he crying? I don't know what to do. This is all my fault! I tentatively reach out to touch him, ignoring the little voice in my head that is telling me not to. He doesn't pull away with disgust like I fully expected and deserve but instead he responds to my touch by stroking the arm that is still in his clutches. I have dreamed about touching him like this for so long although definitely not under these circumstances. He is kneeling by my side with his head bowed. I want so badly to touch his hair, to tell him I'm sorry but I can't bring myself to do so. I can't risk it.   
  
It seems like hours have passed although I know it has only actually been a few minutes. I have to answer his question, I love him too much not to,   
  
"I do it to regain control Grissom" My voice is wavering and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. It's like a river bursting its banks as the tears finally make their way over my cheeks. "I don't do it often, I swear, only when I feel like everything is moving too fast and I am being swept away with the flow. I did it today because I was upset, frustrated and I felt helpless. I am so alone". Now I have begun to talk I don't think I can stop. The words are tumbling out of my mouth now.   
  
"It was the first time I've done it for almost a year. You have to believe me, you have to!" I am desperate. I need so much for him to believe me, to see that I am telling the truth this time. I get my reply when I am suddenly pulled of the chair and enveloped in the most tender embrace I have ever experienced. Its almost as if he is afraid to hold me too tight in case I break in two. After several minutes we break from each others arms. I try to look away but he grabs my chin and forces me to look him in the eyes.   
  
"We'll get through this honey" is all he says before letting go and placing a sweet, feather-light kiss on my forehead. I actually want to believe him.  
  
******  
  
I can hear his heart beat, I wonder if mine is that loud? Its rhythmic and constant and I find myself strangely hypnotised by the repetitive thumping. I am lying on the couch in his office with my head resting on his chest. He has a hand wrapped in my hair and is alternating between playing with the brown strands and smoothing them. Its comforting. I can't think of the last time I was this intimate with someone, by nature I shy away from moments like this. I find it difficult to open up and to let people into my closely guarded inner world but this is different. I have already exposed so much and have shown him my raw and bleeding soul, the real me. There is nothing really left to hide. Maybe this is why it feels easy to simply lie in his arms and cry. It should feel strange to be lying on the couch in the corner of my boss's office with my body in his arms and his hand stroking my hair but instead it feels nice. Actually, 'nice' is a bad choice of word. It invokes a sense of mediocrity and mere pleasantness whereas what I am feeling is far from being simply pleasant  
  
My chest is still heaving slightly from the violence of the sobs that seemed to shake my entire body and my breath is still catching in my throat with every exhale. I didn't realise I could cry so hard and for so long. Grissom is silent and his hand periodically smoothing over my hair is the only movement he makes. I can not see his face. I need to know what he is thinking, why he is still here. I am desperate to face him but I do not want to be the first to break the silence. I wouldn't know what to say anyway.  
  
"Sara?" Grissom finally makes the first move. His voice is wavering with an emotion I can not identify. My brain is failing me, I am exhausted. The last vestiges of energy I was clinging onto have been completely sapped. I'm not too sure I want to hear what Grissom is going to tell me. If he tells me that he pities me, that he feels sorry for me then I swear to God I am going to force my body to get up and carry me out of this room and I will never come back. I do not want pity. I want things to be as they were before my metaphorical dirty laundry was forcibly spilled out of the basket and cast on the floor in front of me for all to see. I am no different than I was a few hours ago, last week, last year. I am the same Sara Sidle I have always been and always will be. I refuse to let this change anything.   
  
"Stay with me tonight?". Damn, that is not what I was expecting.   
  
I can feel my heart accelerating, surely he must be able to hear it now? It sounds as if there is a drum beating its tattoo, a rhythmic accompaniment to my bewilderness. I don't know how to respond. I have waited three years to hear him say those words to me and now I am struck dumb. I feel my mouth moving but it is as if someone else is speaking although it is definitely my mouth forming the words. It is as if I am in the third person looking in on the bad soap opera that my life is quickly turning into.   
  
"why?"  
  
I think Grissom is as surprised as I am when he hears my response. I can feel him shift underneath me. I wish I was more alert, more in tune with the world so I could have stopped myself from opening my big mouth.   
  
"Why? I want you to stay because I want you near me. Strike that, I need you near me. Sara, you have no idea of how much you mean to me. When Warrick told me what he saw you do, it was like a knife in the heart. I want to wrap you in cotton wool and place you among the stars.." His words are suddenly punctuated by a sniff. I turn to face him for the first time since my confession. He is crying. Crying because of me. I have hurt the one person I never wanted to hurt. I am a terrible person! His hand comes down and cups my face in mimicry of his earlier actions. He is forcing me to look in his eyes. Grissom has always been able to read me better than anybody else. He knows that I will not look him in the eyes voluntarily because I am ashamed of what I am, of what I do. I am ashamed that he knows, that Warrick knows, that I tried to lie to him, that I am so lonely and that I can not cope! I am a grown woman and I can not cope with the world. What sort of pathetic creature does that make me?  
  
I lift my gaze up until I meet his. He offers me a weak smile "Sara, I may not have the eloquence of a poet but what I am trying to say is that you mean so much to me and more. Such a cliche, I'm sorry, but it doesn't make it any less true. I can not bear to think of you in pain. Any pain. I want to help take it away and I need to be reassured that you are safe. This is why I want you to stay with me. I'm being selfish but I can not lose you. I can't let you do this to yourself.".  
  
My face is burning red under his touch. This is too much for me to process, I can not make sense of his words. I feel as if I am going to cry again, I can feel the pressure of the tears building up in my eyes. His other hand moves to my face and begins to stroke the skin of my cheek. It feels so good but it is adding to the confusion which is mounting in my brain. I don't want to deal with this right now. I just want to bury my head under the covers and pretend this sorry little affair ever happened. Sara Sidle, the human ostrich walks again. I have to answer him though, this is one conversation I can not avoid. It would be so easy to say no, to walk away and forget he ever asked me to stay. I shouldn't let him get involved, it will only cause him pain and I couldn't live with myself if he became an innocent victim of the destruction brought on by my inadequacies.  
  
"Yes.".  
  
Heart 1, Brain 0  
  
******  
  
"Do you want something to eat, a glass of water, juice?"   
  
I shake my head. My appetite disappeared about the same time as my secret came out. I can't bear the thought of food. I still have that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I remember the taste of the bile rising in my throat when I knew I had been caught out all too well. Everything is too fresh in my mind. So much has happened in the space of a couple of hours that its difficult for my body to rid itself of the adrenaline that has been fuelling it thus far. I'm also being sustained by the sweet feeling of anticipation that is coursing like honey through my veins.   
  
"No thanks Grissom. I think I want to go to bed". His face falls at that my statement. I think he wanted to stay up and talk but you know what? I'm done talking. I've told more secrets in the course of one evening than I have in the whole of my adult life. His bowed head and slumped shoulders more than points out his disappointment. I can not believe that I have hurt him already. I am such a bitch. I need to rectify this. Its time to take the biggest gamble of my life.  
  
"Will you sleep with me? I don't think I want to be alone".   
  
It's the truth, I don't think I could bear to be alone tonight. Not after all that has happened. I also miss the touch of his body against mine. When we were lying on the couch together it seemed so natural, so right. If I'm going to be brutally honest, the smell of his skin and the tickle of his breath on my face as we lay there aroused feelings in me I thought were long forgotten. I need him near me.   
  
He smiles.  
  
******  
  
I can smell the essence of him in his sheets and I am desperate to bury my nose deep in the softness and inhale so deeply in order to burn the scent into my brain. My own personal, secret bottle of eau de Grissom. This is a moment I have dreamed about for years, ever since my school girl crush morphed into something altogether a lot more serious. I can't date the exact moment I fell in love with with him, it's something that just happened. I am wearing one of his t-shirts and lying in his bed, it's as if all my fantasies have come true. I should be happy but one glance at the arm that is lying limply by my side is physical manifestation of the reason I am not. The blood that pooled in the crescent shaped lacerations has coagulated and the healing process has begun. The human body's capacity for healing is amazing. Its difficult to admit that I did this to myself but then again its doubly difficult to deny it. I see myself do it, I will myself to do it, I want to do it. The feeling I get when I cause myself pain is the perfect antitode to my inner turmoil.   
  
Everyone has different ways of coping. Some people go for a run, others play music and others box. The list is endless. This is my coping mechanism. Sometimes I get so angry and frustrated that I can feel the blood pumping to my brain and my pulses all tingle with the flow. When I get this worked up, this angry it ususally ends in me biting myself or taking a blade to my thigh or simply punching myself. Its the only way I can relieve myself of the feeling that threatens to consume me whole. I am such a freak. I don't know why Grissom didn't run away from me when he found out. If the roles were reversed I don't know how understanding I would be.   
  
He is in the bathroom now. I can hear the melodious trickle of the water in the basin punctuated by the sound of splashing. It is soothing as it reaffirms that he is actually here, that I am here. I wonder what his routine is? I already know what soap he uses, what brand of toothpaste he prefers and what colour toothbrush he has. I want to find out, I wonder whether I ever will. The water has stopped now. He will be out soon. My hands are shaking, I am nervous because while he has been performing his morning routine, I have let my imagaination wander back into the realm of fantasy. I am such a fucking idiot, there is no reason to be nervous. This is just two people who will be almost fully clothed, sharing a bed. Perfectly innocent. If I repeat it enough maybe my rebellious brain will finally accept that this is true, this is how it is and will always be. We are friends, co-workers, never to be lovers. What I want will never come into it especially after tonight, not now he knows what sort of person I actually am. I don't know what to do...should I pretend to be asleep? Should I acknowledge him? Shit, shit, shit. Good going Sidle, try and get out of this one with any of your last shreds of dignity in tact. Crap, he's coming in. I close my eyes.  
  
"Sara?". his voice is soft and low and I feel the need to respond despite the fact that I should be concentrating on pretending to be asleep. I crack open one of my eyes in response. The mattress moves slightly underneath me as he lowers his body next to mine and the rustling of the sheets alerts me to the fact that he is underneath the covers, his body a couple of inches away from mine. If I reached out with my hand I bet I could touch his skin. Bad Sara.   
  
"Sara, can I hold you tonight?  
  
He's done it again, rendered the wisecracking, smart ass Sara Sidle silent. The guy should win an award for achieving what many people have thought impossible several times in the space of one night. Rationally there are a thousand reasons why I should say no and drag my sorry self out of his bed. I am opening myself up for more heartache but what if this will be the only time I will get to sleep in his bed wrapped in his arms? What if this is the only chance I will ever have to taste what it feels like to sleep in the embrace of the one you love. I'm feeling foolhardy.  
  
"I would like that Grissom".  
  
The mattress shifts again underneath me as he adjusts his position. I feel an arm wriggle underneath my waist and another fall on top of my arm. The arm. He is warm, like a human radiator. I've forgotten how hot bare human skin feels upon skin and how damn great it feels to be so close to someone. Against my better judgement I move my body closer to his so I can feel his chest against my back. Yet again my heart has won the battle between itself and my brain. It's as if all logic has been banished and my emotions have taken over and have staged an occupation. I can almost imagine battered little brain cells emerging from the trenches in my lobes, waving little white flags.  
  
Heart 2, Brain 0.  
  
The only way to describe the feeling that is coursing through my body right now is utter contentment. If this is what heaven feels like, I won't be afraid when my time comes.   
  
*******  
  
I never thought I would wake up in the arms of my boss but here I am. In less than ideal circumstances. He is still asleep and he is holding me so close to his body that I can feel his breath on my skin. It tickles and it makes all the little hairs on my body stand on end. Its a peculiar sensation. I wonder what will happen when he wakes up, will he want to let go in the cold light of day? I was lucky last night, emotion took over and cold hard facts were slung by the wayside. Already I can feel the tension twisting in my stomach causing the butterflies to rewaken and start their delicate dance. I'm beginning to feel sick. I know this small period of perfection can not last. I want to turn over and watch him sleep, to commit the image to memory but I can't risk waking him up. I want to hold onto this moment for as long as I can.   
  
I know he will want to know why I do what I do. He won't be satisfied with the garbled and frantic explanation I gave him last night, He deserves to know but I don't think I'm ready to tell him all and in truth I'm not too sure whether he is ready to hear it. It's a risk and I've been taking far too many lately. I'm afraid if I keep pushing my luck I'm eventually going to fall flat on my face. I'm in a mess and have been for some time. I've been exposed enough, I kind of want to keep some secrets to myself, the more shameful ones anyway. Yes, it may be difficult to believe that I have more shocking skeletons in my closet than a propensity to harm myself when the going gets tough. I haven't exactly led a charmed life. I want to rebuild the walls I carefully built around myself, I want to barricade myself in again, I want my cocoon of denial back damnit! It's safer that way. Is that wrong?   
  
However, if I don't give him the answers I'm sure he'll be seeking I might lose him, lose this, regardless. It's a classic prisoners' dilemma, a no win situation. On the one hand I'll be alone, completely exposed or on the other alone but intact. I hate this.   
  
To tell or not to tell, to not tell or to tell, tell not tell? If only I had a coin.   
  
I need to tell him, it's only fair. He needs to know, needs to have some sort of context for my behaviour other than 'I can't cope'. It is almost as if I want to show him the knife sharp shards of my pretence of a life. I want to tell him how hellish my time at High School was and how I didn't have a single friend and had only taunts of Sara Sidle Superbrain to accompany me through the halls. I want him to know how I was 20 years of age when I had my alcohol fuelled first kiss and an hour later I lost my virginity to am equally drunk grad student with my only true memory of the encounter being fumbling hands and the feeling of shame once the deed had been done. I want him to know why I left grad school despite the fact I was doing so well, how I felt when I was pinned face down in the dirt and gravel with someone forcing himself on me, inside me. I want him to know how scared and how totally out of control and humiliated I was. I want to tell him about the nightmares. I want to tell him how lonely I am in Vegas, how again I find myself in the same situation as I was in school, always the loner and the outsider. I want to tell him about Hank and all other disasters that have befallen me since I set foot in Nevada. I want to tell him how much I love him and how much he has hurt me with his push me-pull me yo-yo routine and how much I want to hate him for it even though I never could and never will.   
  
Sara Sidle, this is your life but without the funky red book.  
  
He's stirring. I turn to face him, he looks good in the morning. Better than me no doubt as I never have been a morning person. I suffer terribly from bed-head. I know the mussed up look is supposed to be trendy but my hair always looks as if I spent six hours in a wind tunnel instead of sleeping.  
  
'Hey.'. I'm glad he broke the silence first.   
  
'Hey yourself'. It's now or never, I know I can do this, I know I can. I'm strong. 'Grissom, we need to talk. Or rather I need to talk and I would like it if you could listen. I need to tell you properly why I feel the need to do this to myself...'.   
  
I can't seem to find the words, why do I have to pick now to regress to the verbal level of a pubescent teenage boy? I'll be grunting next. I have the sudden urge to study my hands, anything to avoid his gaze that never fails to reel me in. I feel his hand carressing my cheek. That's the second time in less than 12 hours he's done that and it feels amazing. His hand seems to fit my cheek perfectly, as if it were molded and cast for that very purpose. His other hand seeks out mine and he raises it to his lips and presses the warmest of kisses on my upturned palm. My God.   
  
'Honey, I'm here for you. Always'  
  
Heart 3, Brain 0  
  
I think I've found the right box at last.  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
Things moved slowly between Gris and I, the situation dictated it. As much as I loved him, I couldn't sustain a relationship at that point. We're good now, I'm good now. I still have my bad days but now there are more better than bad. I have Gil to thank for that. Our relationship while far from being perfect is pretty damn amazing.  
  
My friendship with Warrick has also improved even though he feel the need to watch out for me. I pretend that it infuriates me but that's only for show really and Warrick knows that. It's a nice feeling to know that someone has your back. None of the other night shift personnel know about my problem, it's been a closely guarded secret between Gil, Warrick and I and that's the way it is going to stay. No one else needs to know and Grissom and Warrick respect that. God knows what it would do to my professional relationship if it got out.   
  
All in all, things are definitely looking up. 


End file.
